


The Downed Dragon

by orangecrow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Anal Sex, Knotting, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangecrow/pseuds/orangecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thunderous crash brings viking werewolf Derek Hale to the edge of his pack's lands four days before the last autumn moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Downed Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> So this is unbeta'd, I'm afraid. So I'm sorry if it's a bit rough around the edges. I got a bit too impatient to post it, and don't really have any connections within Teen Wolf fandom. It's been a really, really long time since I've written any sort of fic, but this idea sank its claws into me one evening. I hope you'll enjoy!

Four days before the last autumn moon, a tremendous noise interrupted Derek Hale’s patrol of his family’s lands along the fjords. The groan of breaking trees echoed against the hills, growing so loud that the ground seemed to tremble fearfully. Even Derek’s keen ears had a hard time pinning down the direction the noise had come from. He hesitated briefly before heading west, swiftly and cautiously.

Whatever had made the noise was obviously massive, and that fact alone should have been enough to deter any man from venturing out to investigate. Derek’s pack, however, had not become the most influential pack along the western fjords by exercising caution when it came to their territory. It fell to Derek to see to any unusual circumstances this season, since he’d elected to stay at home while the others had set sail, hoping for a bountiful harvest upon foreign soil before winter settled in.

The last full moon of autumn was a time when werewolves traditionally sought out a mate to keep warm with during the frigid months to come, and packs all up and down the fjords ventured far and wide in order to steal brides from other lands. Derek’s interest had all but evaporated, however, following a disastrous attempt he’d made the year previous. So, instead, the eldest son of the Hale alpha fulfilled other duties, by looking after the pack’s lands. Some families had stayed behind, of course, and it was his job to make sure that no pack member be spirited away by some foreign wolf.

It was this duty that led Derek to a freshly made clearing in the trees. He gazed, stunned, at trees wider across than his shoulders, wrenched apart. Bits of wood littered the forest floor haphazardly, splintered and jagged. As he picked his way through the broken forest, he heard a voice shouting.

Derek crept quietly toward the distressed voice, brows furrowing when he discovered the source.  A pale young man, face dotted with moles, stood staring up into the sky, yelling and shaking his fist with a bit of resigned ferocity. He was dressed oddly, for these parts. Where Derek and his fellow kinsmen wore bulky leather wrapped around fur and mail, enough to protect a werewolf in a harsh winter, this stranger wore a combination of decorative leather, cloth, and metalwork that appeared to be more aesthetic than anything, and added a bit of delicateness to the stranger’s slender frame.

The boy sighed and dropped his arms dejectedly. Muttering to himself, he kicked at a shard of broken tree branch.

“What am I supposed to do now? I’m miles from any respectable civilization. I’ll die out here! I’ll become a withered h-AUGH!” He turned slowly as he mumbled, hands darting about as he spoke. Derek stared intently until the young man spotted him standing in the treeline. “Who’re you!?”

Taken aback by the forward response, Derek very nearly gaped. It took him the barest of moments before he settled into a comfortable glare, brows set and shoulders squared.  “You shouldn’t be here,” he stated finally, after failing to illicit a reaction further than a wide-mouthed gape from the strange boy. He took a step closer, to drive the point home.

The stranger stumbled backward quickly, startled into motion. He put his hands up in a placating gesture as he retreated and missed a step, falling hard onto his rear end, breath rushing from his lungs in a squeaking gasp. Derek drew to a halt a few paces away and crossed his arms. He tested the air curiously and arched a brow. Human.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeated.

“I- Look, I’d love to not be here. But my- Well, I’m kind of stuck here? For now.” The boy’s eyes widened as Derek’s narrowed, and he babbled on. “My travelling companion left me here. He might be fit to wander about in the wilderness by himself, but, well…” The boy gestured to himself and offered a self-depreciating smile before running a nervous hand through short, messy hair. “Here. I’m Stiles.” Stiles held out a hand while levering  himself up to stand using the other one. Derek growled at him in warning, causing the young man’s hand to slip from under him. “Oh. No? Nevermind, then.”

“There are more of you? How many?” Derek took a step closer and stared down at the boy, towering over his seated form. Humans by themselves were rarely a threat. But if several had reached their shores undetected, they’d be an issue with so many wolves away.

Stiles sucked in a breath through his nose and stared up at the imposing man. After a moment, he released it with a choking cough. “Only one of me. Sorry to disappoint. I’m sure the world could do with about… oh, at least five more, don’t you think?” Clearly, Derek didn’t think so, as he glared back silently. Stiles laughed nervously and continued without further prompting. “Just me and my friend. He’s harmless, really,” Stiles assured the darker man. Cautiously, the boy moved again to stand, slowly setting himself upright.

Up close, they saw nearly eye to eye, Derek noted. He wasn’t really sure how he felt about that. But Derek easily had several pounds of muscle on the oddly dressed foreigner, not to mention claws, fangs, and myriad other superhuman abilities. All this “Stiles” seemed to have is an interesting pattern of moles across his skin, a funny accent, and the biggest mouth he’d ever heard. Derek caught himself staring and grunted after a moment. He backed away a bit and tested the air. Spice, trees, and something burnt-smelling.

“So is this your home, then?” Stiles didn’t comment on the extended stare he’d just received.

Derek grunted an affirmative. “And that’s why you shouldn’t be here. You should leave as quickly as your legs can carry you.” Skinny though they were, he noted. He pointed to the east, past the hills and to the land beyond. The pack’s lands stretched in a wide swath from north to south down the coast, but did not reach to the east. No more than three days’ journey, for an able-bodied wolf.

“Ah, well, big guy, hiking isn’t exactly my forte. And I’d really hate to leave my buddy guessing where I am. Give him a couple days, and I’m sure he’ll be around again and we’ll be out of your hair.” He skirted around the subject, hands up again in a placating gesture.

Unacceptable. Derek snarled, flashing dull teeth. “I’m sure your cowardly friend will catch up to you. He’s obviously quicker on his feet than you.” The darker haired man gestured demonstratively at the otherwise deserted forest, littered with splintered and twisted trees. “Now leave.” He pointed again to the horizon, firmly. If the boy got started now, he would have a few hours of light still. In these months, it would not be too unbearably cold outdoors at night, for someone dressed appropriately.

Stiles’s wide lips pressed into a disgruntled frown, seeing that Derek would not be swayed. After chewing on his lip for a moment he sighed, resigned. “Fine. Just let me get my pack.” He turned his back on Derek and retrieved his belongings. He arranged them on his slender frame, satchel wrapped around his chest and blanket rolls tucked in between the straps at his back. When he turned back he gave Derek a petulant glower before setting off, muttering lowly about “inhospitable savages” under his breath.

Derek snorted and watched the odd boy walk away until he can be seen no longer amongst the trees. He momentarily felt a pang of regret for sending the young man back into the forest with whatever had torn it apart, but he shook his head. If the foreigner had made it this deep into the woods, he could manage the rest of the way until he was out of pack territory. By then, Derek would hopefully have whatever had caused such a mess under control in time for his pack’s return, and the human would be long gone.

Humans did not often stray into pack territory. The region was largely inaccessible to invaders from the sea to the west, and to the east stretched leagues and leagues of wild forest. Most humans that reached any sort of werewolf territory to the east did not manage to delve in deeper. Those who did manage rarely left to spread tales of what lived amongst the forests of the western fjords.

With a frown, Derek turned to the piles of shattered wood and began to comb through for any hint of scent. His senses were already feeling the effects of the full moon’s approach, thrillingly heightened. Disappointment met him when his nose proved too full of traces of spices, trees, and faint burnt notes. After a few attempts, he supposed his best option would be to keep a wary ear out for any disturbances.

He returned to his cabin with bits of wood stuck to the fur lining in his boots and with the smell of spices stuck in his nose.

 

 

The third night before the last autumn moon, Derek was wrenched from his light doze by a noise quite unlike the one earlier that day. This one ringing out shriller than the first, and it left the ground firmly in place. On alert, Derek lept from his warm bed and tugged on his boots, forgoing his warm, fur-lined tunic when the noise repeated itself more insistently.

A chilly wind whipped at his face as he ran through the forest closest to his cabin, following the source of the sound. As he drew closer, the yells grew decidedly more urgent, and by the time he burst into the clearing surrounding the lake, he was all fangs and claws.

Two noises heralded his entrance. The first: that same high yell, given by a familiar face, this time up a tree. The second: a massive roar, given off by an equally massive bear, standing upon its hind legs and very eager to climb the very same tree as Stiles. Derek roared in reply and charged the bear before weighing his options.

The first hit Derek threw landed solidly in the bear’s shoulder, and he heard the solid crack of bone from under his knuckles. The bear dropped its forepaws from the tree it had cornered Stiles in and wheeled its massive bulk around to face the aggravating werewolf, roaring again and sending spittle flying from its jaws. Derek growled and didn’t give the giant a chance to compose a blow against him, striking out quickly with his claws and catching the beast across its muzzle, blood spraying everywhere.

The bear bellowed with rage and retaliated with an unlikely speed, hitting the werewolf solidly in the chest and clawing him open shallowly. Derek wheezed in pain, blinking white spots from his vision. He glimpsed Stiles, still up in the tree and staring, mouth agape. The bear shifted to Derek’s side and it tensed. Derek flew at it again before it could land any more rib crushing attacks, slashing fiercely with his claws.

He stopped only when the bear gave a tremulous cry and backed down. It risked turning its back on him and made a hasty attempt at escape. Derek let it go. Injured as it was, it would either die, or abandon this portion of the forest to the wolves. He panted for breath and swiped at the blood on his chest, wound already closing. In those few seconds, he’d nearly forgotten about the bear’s prey again, until he heard a nervous whimper from above him.

“You were right.” Derek admitted. “You’re really not a very good hiker.”

Stiles stared at him, a half-crazed look in his eyes, before a hysterical laugh bubbled from him. Derek’s lips twitched in response, free of fang now.

“At least I’m a halfway decent climber. You’d be pretty impressed with me if that bear hadn’t been so tall.” Stiles slid forward on his branch, tensing to leap down. Derek tilted his head, considering that statement, before moving under the branch. He caught Stiles with little effort and placed him on the ground, failing to release him immediately. He stared thoughtfully at the younger man, and Stiles looked back intently before squirming after a time.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this, big guy, but you’re getting bear blood all over my shirt. And your blood, too, come to think of it.” Stiles pulled himself back and made a noise of surprise as he took in Derek’s chest. “Your wound is gone.”

Derek nodded dumbly. He wasn’t sure what to do. Humans rarely found out about them. And when they did, they rarely walked away with the information.  It wasn’t that knowledge of wolves was forbidden to humans, it was just that that knowledge never worked in a human’s favor.

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles quickly surmised, much to Derek’s shock.

“How-?”

“Really? Claws, teeth. Not to mention hair to rival that beast you just chased off. I can barely believe it, but I know when to trust my eyes. You’re like some sort of living fairy tale.” Stiles prodded him in the ear and Derek eyed the back of his long-fingered hand as it passed before reeling back with a snarl.

“Unicorns and leprechauns are fairy tales,” he backed away from Stiles, finally, studying his face, faintly amazed at how blissfully ignorant he must be, to be so fearless.

“Well… Here, maybe.” Stiles stroked his chin, the pad of a finger rubbing at a mole, absently. “Are werewolves common? How many of you are there? Do you always have fangs?” He looked as if he might try to find the last one out for himself before he appeared to reconsider, delicate hands twitching back, away from Derek’s face.

“There’s only one of me.” Derek muttered, rolling his eyes, and Stiles grinned broadly. Undeterred, he didn’t wait for any answers before launching into his next question.

“And who are you, anyway? You never answered me before, you know.”

Derek, covered in blood on Stiles’s behalf, supposed he couldn’t fault the boy for his tenacity. Though it was unbearably annoying. “Derek, of the Hale pack. This is Hale pack territory you’re trespassing on.”

Stiles clearly wasn’t sure if he should be delighted by this new information, or offended at being invited to leave again so quickly.  Derek crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “Look. If you think your friend will be back within the next two days, then you can stay here, at this specific spot, until he returns. The bear won’t be back any time soon. You need to be far away from here by the full moon, though. Do you understand?” The wolf’s tone brooked no argument, and he hoped that the foreigner’s fanciful half-knowledge of werewolves would create some terrible sort of scenario to go with his full moon stipulation.

Stiles nodded a grateful affirmation and looked relieved. “I really don’t think I could have taken another day of hiking,” he sighed. Derek gave him a confused stare and shook his head. Humans were a bit of a mystery, themselves. This one was even stranger than the handful he’d met before.

“Thank you, Derek. You’ve completely changed my mind about savages. And werewolves!” He clapped his hands against Derek’s folded biceps, warm fingers clasping around them. After a beat Derek arched his brows and Stiles swiftly removed them.

“I hope your friend returns for you soon.” Derek said, before abrubtly turning and heading back toward his house. He broke into another run on the return trip and savored the chill on his face.

 

 

The next day passed with blissful fewer events than the day previous. Derek made his rounds, chasing out one stray omega from the borders of the Hale territory. He found himself with such an excess of free time that he stopped to check on his human guest on three separate occasions.

The first time, he watched Stiles doze peacefully under the filtered forest sunlight. He’d propped one bedroll upon the roots of the tree he’d occupied the night before to cushion his head. Long lashes splayed against his cheeks and his wide mouth slackened with sleep.

 The second time, Derek frowned as the human struggled to wash the blood stains from the night before from his shirt. Stiles stood calf-deep in the water of the freezing lake beating the shirt relentlessly against a rock, lean, spotted chest heaving from effort. He gave up before too long and laid both himself and the shirt out to dry upon a large, warm rock.

The third time he went looking for the human, however, he was nowhere to be seen in the peaceful clearing.

Derek squashed down a few hints of panic before approaching the human’s meager campsite. He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with that spicy, burnt scent he’d already come to memorize. After a few moments, he began to follow that scent, and frowned deeply when the trail led him straight back to his own rough-hewn cabin. The trail looped back toward the lake after that, and Derek snorted in attempt to remove the boy’s scent from his nose again, in frustration.

 

 

Two days before the full moon, Derek rose early and was met by a bracing cold in the morning mist. Winter had already begun to creep in before autumn had even had its full turn. Before long, Derek began to hear the calls of his kin returning to their homes to the west. They were all prepared to send out the season, he gathered, and just in time.

He loosened his patrol after hearing so many of his family return, and instead spent the morning preparing his home for whatever weather laid ahead. His stores and cellar were well stocked, especially for the lonely winter he’d be having. And he had more than enough firewood, thanks to the new clearing in the forest.

It was not until late in the day that Derek gave in to the thought that he should check the lake again. He bundled up against the wind, it having found its teeth in the past few hours, and he set out at a relaxed lope, fully expecting to find the lake abandoned. The thought left a bitter pang of disappointment in his chest.

Disappointment twisted when he reached the lake and found Stiles still there, huddled under his blankets. They’d surely served him well in nights previous, but now they proved sorely lacking against the wind howling heedlessly through the trees. Derek frowned when a sick bit of glee clawed at him, happy to see the man still there. He shook it off and walked over to Stiles, wordlessly. He stared silently down at the only bit of short hair that had escaped the cover of blankets before Stiles looked back up at him, brown eyes solemn for a moment.

“Are you here to kick me out? My time’s up, isn’t it?” He looked back down at Derek’s boots. They’d been tied tightly together and looked cozy compared to Stiles’s.

Derek grunted and pretended to think about it. The logical part of his brain had been outvoted, though, and he knew he wouldn’t be sending his foreign company away. “Come on,” he said shortly, before turning back toward his house again.

Stiles appeared shocked when Derek led him back to the warmth of his cabin. He eagerly entered the house, crowding up to the fire crackling away inside to warm his chilled hands. After a few moments, he turned towards Derek and waited for him to speak.

At first, Derek could find no words, no proper, acceptable explanation as to why he’d invited Stiles back. He didn’t want the boy to freeze to death. Another wolf howl echoed amongst the hills, filling the quiet air with more than Derek could say. Instead, he opened his mouth to ask if Stiles’s travelling companion would be able to find him at the cabin. Those words would not come, either. He felt a sinking bit of pity for the boy.

“My odds didn’t look good out there, huh?” Stiles gave Derek a half smile when the werewolf failed to speak. Derek inclined his head a bit, fearing they didn’t look much better in here. Stiles looked around his cabin, obliviously. “I like your house, by the way. Very rustic and manly. Did you decorate it yourself?” Stiles laughed faintly to himself a bit and turned back to the fire. Quiet filled the room again for a time.

“Thank you, Derek.” Derek started a bit and peered at the younger man, forgetting why he should even be thanked. “You’ve been nothing but forgiving of my mistakes on my so far brief and eventful trip from home.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow at Stiles, thinking the admission a bit strong for the boy’s situation. But he allowed Stiles’s words to draw him from his own thoughts anyway. The younger man laughed a bit and ran a hand through his hair. It seemed to be his reflex when it came to embarrassment. Derek inhaled sharply.

“Personal error bought me on this trip in the first place, you know. It’s really less of a ‘trip’ and more of a… temporary, loving exile.” He gave Derek a wry grin. “I’m not the best decision maker when it comes to life choices, and I’m pretty clumsy on top of that. One too many teensy mistakes and the chief of your village has to have a talk with your father, his enforcer, and the next thing you know, you’re set adrift until ‘things calm down a bit, and we can rebuild all of those houses that burnt down, Stiles.’” He finishes, voice going a bit deeper in imitation.

It takes a moment for all of that information to sink in at once. “You must not be that badly off. Your father sounds like he thinks you can survive out on your own for a while,” Derek states encouragingly. Stiles grins like sunlight on a stream at that, and relaxes in front of the heat of the fire, looking thoughtful.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says after several minutes.

They spend a length of time staring into the fire and not speaking. Derek can only glance thoughtfully at the other man so many times, however, before it feels like he’s about to claw out of his own skin. He isn’t sure if Stiles can tell and is taking pity on him, or if he’s just good at opening his mouth at opportune moments, because he asks “I’ll bet growing up as a werewolf has its interesting hiccups too, though.” And he smiles again, easy as ever, and the tension in Derek’s shoulders fades.

For the next hour, Derek sheds a bit of life upon the finer points of werewolf society for Stiles, until finally, he felt that he should stop before the other man’s brain breaks with the sudden flood of knowledge. It’s more than maybe he should share. But, he thinks, if he is too busy talking about how skilled wolves are in village raids and about their long history of shipbuilding, maybe he’ll be less busy trying to count Stiles’s moles or trying to guess what his favorite food is.

“You’ve not told me where you’re from.” Derek blurts out, after a while. It seemed to catch Stiles in between thoughts and he had to pause before he can compose his answer.

“I’m from a place very far from here. I don’t think even your boats have ever reached it,” Stiles says, waving a hand.

Derek snorts at that, “Weren’t you paying attention? We’ve crossed countless lands. My sister has a collection of over 20 goblets, each from a different shore.” He didn’t add that he thought goblets were a stupid thing to collect.

“It’s much further south.”

Derek gave the lanky boy a look. “Unless we want to pillage ice from polar bears, that’s the direction we sail in.”

Stiles snorted out a giggle before hesitating. Derek looked at him expectantly, expecting some sort of reciprocation for all of the information he’d shared so freely. He shouldn’t be so invested.

“I’m told that around here they just call it the island under the mist.”

Derek stared at Stiles as if he had just told him that unicorns and leprachauns were real.

His hand went through his hair again. “We aren’t really supposed to tell. Not many of us leave. Obviously. The place is covered in mist. Well, it’s not really mist, but…”

Such a tale was unbelievable. Derek, like every other person brought up in a seafaring culture, had been regaled with tales of the southern island since he was small. To pillagers like the wolves, it held an immense treasure. To knowledge seekers, it held a wealth of untold information and secrets. The only problem was that the fog that surrounded the island proved beyond all methods of navigation. At best, seasoned seafarers found themselves turned around, closer to home than anywhere else. Every few years, even his pack would decide amongst themselves to plan a raid upon the island. They’d never get very far, but they always enjoyed the challenge of planning the trip. The villages they hit as alternatives suffered especially well those years.

“I can see in your bushy, confused eyebrows that you don’t believe me. And I don’t blame you.” Stiles patted him on the head. “I wish I could prove it to you right now.”

Derek arched a brow, eager to be amazed. “I can’t though,” Stiles continued. “Not now, anyway. That was why I was so surprised to meet you - a werewolf. Our tale of the island goes that when the world grew weary and magic grew too thin, the earth breathed all of its magic in, and left it as a mist upon my little island home. You can imagine my surprise at meeting you.” Stiles gestures at him. “Maybe a bit of magic stayed behind,” he wondered aloud, bringing Derek back into the moment.

“Probably,” he says stiffly, and Stiles’s expressive mouth tugged downward into a frown. He chewed upon his bottom lip worriedly.

“It’s alright if you don’t believe me. For all you know, I’m from some southern farm.” He shrugs. “I’ll be out of your perfectly menacing eyebrows tomorrow. Don’t you worry.” He helped himself to Derek’s bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, stretching out languidly. The werewolf stared, and wondered if he’d been tricked. Some sweet-smelling human waltzing into wolf territory this close to the full moon, regaling him with fanciful tales.

Derek looked away, a chewing feeling developing in his stomach. He rose, and, before retiring to his bedroom, leaned against his doorframe. He studied Stiles, long-limbed, skinny, and vulnerable, and perfectly at ease in a werewolf’s home. The den of a creature he’d not believed in a week ago. Derek scrubbed a hand over his face. “I believe you.”

He shut his door and swiftly shed all of his clothing after hearing a murmured “Thanks.”

 

 

A fire under his skin brought him into the world of the waking on the final morning before the year’s last autumn moon. He panted, waking to teeth and claws, rutting against the furs of his bed. Derek groaned in frustration and rolled over, hand sliding over his hard and leaking cock. He tried to listen for noises coming from the other room in the cabin, but ringing filled his ears as spice filled his nose, and he finally gave into blissful sensation.

It was not at all uncommon for a full moon to heighten a werewolf’s senses. Everything would be sharper for the next day or so. But the lingering scent of spice in his small cabin drew everything closer to the surface, piquing his interest until the scent alone had him writhing on the furs in his bed.

He bit at his lip to quiet any wayward growls and pulled at his cock, hips hitching on every other stroke. He’d give in to this. But nothing else. He would not invite any errant thoughts about his houseguest. Stiles would leave today, and he’d take his clever lips, burnt scent, and pale skin with him. Derek would not get any ideas.

After he’d come over his belly, Derek lay in his bed for a few moments, finally able to hear the soft breathing that indicated sleep in the next room over. He used the icy water he kept in a basin to clean himself off before getting dressed. He laced his boots up tightly before heading outside.

The weather was warmer today, as if winter had ceded this final day to autumn. Derek took that as a good sign. Perhaps Stiles could leave with his traveling companion today. It was either that, or he learn a bit more about werewolves than perhaps strictly necessary to outsiders, which was no option at all.

Derek ran as far as the forest would take him before it butted up against the personal territory of a wolf that might mind his presence, given the day. Then he ran back the other way, until he had no choice but to head home. He’d managed to work up a sweat, but did little about the burning beneath his skin.

The sun was high in the sky when he strode through his door. Stiles sat on the same rug Derek had left him on that morning, rearranging his pack. Derek cleared his throat, but dared not speak. He was almost afraid he’d growl at the boy for looking like he was about to leave.

Stiles looked up at him with a helpless sort of smile and shrugged. “I’d better head out today, right? You mentioned the full moon, and that’s tonight,” he pointed out, as if Derek couldn’t tell.

Derek inclined his head and trusted himself enough to say, “You should probably go. You could be in danger, otherwise.” It wasn’t completely true, but it was for his own good. If he stayed, Derek was sure to make a fool of himself at the very least. No, the boy would be safer out in the forest. All of the other wolves would be occupied this evening.

With a solemn nod, Stiles rose, graceful despite his gangly frame. Derek didn’t flinch when he was grasped about the arms again. “Thank you again. For everything. Maybe I can repay you one day for everything you’ve said to me.” Stiles let him go and arranged his pack about himself once more. Derek held himself stiffly, and, after receiving no response, Stiles left.

The rest of Derek’s daylight hours were spent in thoughtful reflection, where he reminded himself that rolling around on the rug in front of the fire wouldn’t make him feel any better for the rest of the winter. His claws itched to simply tear the thing to pieces. Eventually, he found that he could not stay contained in his cabin any longer, with his nose the way it was, and he stormed out into the cool evening, intent upon an icy dip in the lake for the rest of his foreseeable future.

Loping through the woods as quickly as he could, Derek reached the lake and immediately stripped off his clothing. Leaving it all piled upon the bank, he plunged into icy water and roared as the breath was knocked from his lungs. He plunged his face under the water a second time just to clear his sinuses and took great gulps of air afterward, disappointed to find it had done no good.

“Woah.”

Derek twisted around in the frigid water, sending violent little ripples crashing upon the bank. Stiles sat under the tree he’d been run up a few nights previous, book in hand. Derek sunk further down into the lake and glowered at the other man. Humans were awful at self-preservation. He’d always thought so.

“You could lose some fingers like that, you know. Or other important bits.”

“They’d heal,” Derek answered flatly around a mouthful of fang. His control hadn’t been this bad since he’d been 16, and he resented this foreigner more than a little for that.

“Really?” Stiles looked surprised.

Derek groaned, taken aback by Stiles’s inquisitiveness in the face of danger. He scrubbed a cold hand across his face and decided to give Stiles more information about wolves than he probably ever wanted.

“We don’t turn into bloodthirsty beasts at the full moon.” Derek nods upward at the huge, low moon. “Not really, anyway. The shift just draws up closer to you – it’s hard to pick out instinct from free will, unless you’re used to it, learn to control it.” Stiles stares raptly at Derek, and sets his book aside.

“This moon is different though. It’s the last moon before winter. And the wolves here have a tradition. Most of them find someone to spend winter with tonight. So they give in a little more to instinct during this month. They go out and win a bride, or steal one from some village somewhere, even if it’s only for the winter. It’s the wolf way of letting go.”

Stiles’s eyes had grown wide during Derek’s explanation. He took his time mulling over the new information, regarding the wolf quietly as he did so. Derek knew that the boy was too smart to just up and run. He’d have to talk his way out, ease himself out of the situation so that Derek could let walk away.

“Well, the bear was impressive, but I’d say that you threw a few too many glares my way for me to feel sufficiently wooed. The glistening lake confession doesn’t hurt, though.” Stiles grinned – no, leered at him a bit.

“Wh-“

Stiles held up a hand and Derek glared at him, showing a bit of fang. “I know what you’re doing here: giving the stranger in a strange land an out. I understand. It’s noble. Really, it is. But I’m a smart guy, you’ve got to admit that. And I’m from a stranger land than this one, truth be told. Moreover, I can make decisions for myself. They might not always be the smartest. But I own up to them – eventually, anyway. So at least give me the choice. If I get the option to spend my time in exile fucking a muscular werewolf, then I would be the worst decision maker in the world not to.”

Derek gaped at him. That wore off quickly, and he rose from the water suddenly, sending icy water flying. He stalked over to Stiles and hauled him up by the arms before sealing his lips to Stiles’s in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. They pressed together for a long few moments before Derek peeled himself away.

“I don’t think you understand,” Derek tried, despite the protests of his body.

“I understand perfectly,” Stiles insisted. “Now dry off first. You’re freezing,” Stiles bent to grab a bedroll and shoved it at Derek. The werewolf accepted the blanket and began drying himself briskly, trying to warm his skin to a more bearable temperature. Stiles smirked at him before moving to unlace the vest covering his cloth shirt, peeling them all off in a motion that would appear fluid on a less gawky person. Derek stared anyway, lower body quickly recovering from his icy plunge.

Dry enough, Derek tossed the used bedroll to the ground and encouraged Stiles to wrap his arms around them before capturing his lips in a slightly less desperate kiss, mindful this time of his teeth. He plied for entry and teased at the younger man’s soft lips.

Both unwilling to wait much longer to have Stiles naked, Derek fumbled with the laces on his britches, fingers still slightly clumsy from cold. Stiles brushed them away and jerked the laces free, shucking his pants down and off quickly.

Derek latched on to one of Stiles’s bared nipples. He needed his hands to be everywhere all at once, clawless fingers toying with the other nub. Stiles dug his fingers into Derek’s hair, massaging his scalp and curiously touching his faintly pointed ears. The wolf suppressed a growl and Stiles grinned with delight.

Derek lifted the other boy up momentarily and settled them both down on top of the remaining dry bedroll, the smaller man caged in by Derek’s bulk. Derek licked into his mouth again with a needy whine and Stiles stroked his back soothingly. The fire under his skin had already rushed back after being driven away by the cold lake.

Panting against Stiles’s mouth, Derek rolled his hips, dragging their bared cocks together.  He brought down a big hand to stroke them both at the same time, slicking down the both of them, and Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck, leaving impulsive little red marks with his mouth.

Stiles broke away from Derek’s neck with a groan when Derek’s other hand teased between his cheeks. “Here,” he said brokenly, and flailed one arm out toward his bag. He broke free reluctantly of Derek’s grip and twisted around as he dug through and yelped, startled, when Derek pressed his tongue to his hole. “That works too,” he finished with a whine. He curled his arms up under him and fisted the blanket, letting out a moan.

Filthy wet noises filled their corner of the woods as Derek worked his tongue patiently further into Stiles. Stiles chimed in with a litany of moans and curses as Derek finally began working fingers into the human as well. Once he’d managed two, he sought out the spot that would hopefully ease any further discomfort. As Derek brushed his fingers against it, Stiles barely contained a scream, muffling it against his arm.

“Fuck! Derek!” Stiles panted, head raised to gulp down more air. “If you intend –fuck- if you want to come inside me at all tonight, you -ah- better get to it.” He dropped his forehead back down to his arm with a broken groan, twisting his ass toward Derek’s fingers.

Derek removed his fingers and licked at Stiles’s balls once before leaving him momentarily, cock leaking desperately over the bedroll. Derek resumed the search from earlier, rummaging around in Stiles’s bag. He withdrew a vial of oil and hastily unstopped it, smearing it along his cock and fingers.

“I’m ready, just get in me,” Stiles groused, sounding less demanding when his sentences ended in a needy whine. Derek growled and wrapped a hand around one of Stiles’s thighs.

“Just trust me.” And Stiles did. He muffled a loud moan against his forearm as Derek eased three slicked fingers inside him. Just as he’d begun to tremble with need, the werewolf withdrew and replaced them with his cock at Stiles’s entrance.

Derek eased in, gritting his teeth. He had to start slowly, or else it’d be over too soon for the both of them. Once he was fully seated, he exhaled, resting his scratchy chin on Stiles’s shoulder for a moment and delighting a bit when he drew away and saw the red mark he’d left. He righted himself and gripped the boy by the hips, claws grazing the skin of his lower belly lightly. He drew out almost the whole way, and thrust home quickly, letting out a shaky groan.

Derek set a rough and brutal pace, knowing that neither one of them had the stamina to last this time. He concentrated on hitting that one spot inside Stiles as the younger man grunted out in time. Soon enough, Derek felt the swelling start at the base of his cock. He panted as his thrusts grew shorter and more stilted, and he leaned down over Stiles’s ear.

“So there’s one more thing about wolves that I –shit- forgot to mention.” Stiles moaned brokenly and twisted his hips. “I- I, ah, figured you’d like this one.” Derek gave one more shallow thrust, knot catching on Stiles’s rim before he gripped the younger man’s cock and only managed about half a stroke before he came messily all over the wolf’s hand with a loud wail. Derek gripped Stiles’s hips again, smearing the mess across his skin, and he shuddered and came with a dull roar ringing in his ears.

They stayed like that, panting noisily for a few minutes, before Stiles shifted, causing Derek to growl. “That was both satisfying, and terribly fascinating and everything, but I can’t be in this configuration for much longer.” He insisted. “How long does this last?”

Derek huffed and slung an arm around Stiles’s waist, shifting them both to their sides with only a bit of jostling. “Better?” He asks.

“Much.” Stiles wiggles back a bit into Derek’s solid chest. “Now, how long?”

Derek grins to himself and nips at Stiles’s ear. “All winter.”

 

 

On the morning after the last full moon of autumn, a hard nudge woke Stiles. He mumbled drowsily and buried his head in Derek’s chest before he was nudged again, more insistently this time. He rose with a start and laughed. “Finally! Where the hell have you been? I hope you didn’t leave me for some girl, bud.”

Derek groaned, exhausted, and tried to make out what Stiles was trying to say to him. “Yeah, sorry, but I think I may be taking up wolf riding instead.” Stiles laughed at his own crude joke and Derek snorted into the crook of his arm, where he’d buried his eyes.

“That was awful.” A guttural noise hummed in agreement, and Derek lifted his head in confusion. He startled fully awake and jerked away from Stiles and what appeared to be his long lost “travelling companion.”

A dragon so massive it filled half of the clearing sat with its head and front claws near his foreign mate’s relaxed form – its hind legs somewhere over on the other side of the lake. It tilted its gargantuan head at Derek and stared at him with an enormous eye, slitted and molten. Morning sunlight glinted off its blue scales, giving them a golden cast, nearly blinding Derek for a moment. The dragon turned its rowboat sized head back to Stiles and Stiles scratched it under the jaw affectionately, throwing his shoulder into his efforts.

“I guess you’re to thank for this whole situation, but don’t think I’m not a little mad at you,” Stiles affectionately chastised the enormous beast as the wolf gaped, splayed and naked, too stunned to even bare his teeth.

“Derek, meet my wayward ride home, and my very best friend.” Derek nodded and the brilliant blue dragon placidly puffed smoke from its nose. Stiles grinned radiantly and grabbed the werewolf’s hand, pressing it to cool scales.

“Bud, this is home for the next while,” Stiles told the great creature, and Derek smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This fic was partially brought on by my love for How to Train Your Dragon and my desire to use the word fjord on multiple occasions. The title is from the HTTYD soundtrack. If you've got feedback, I'd appreciate the help!


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